


Making Do

by flowerpowered



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 1, Character Study, Drabble, I'm emo about how much hawke goes thru in act 1, just a lil thing I wrote on tumblr bc honestly?, she's a mess and im love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerpowered/pseuds/flowerpowered
Summary: A small character study of Hawke in act 1. There's no money, a dead sister, a gross uncle, a brother she doesn't get on with and a mother who's more concerned with reclaiming a mansion than stopping her children starving. All in all, not a great day.





	Making Do

“I still don’t see why you get to go out and gallivant around the city while I sit here like a good boy and look after mother.” 

Hawke tightened the buckles on her light leather armour and tried to ignore Carver’s prattle in the background. Usually it was no hard task, but a persistent thumping pain in her temples set her on edge. Every time someone spoke it felt like daggers were being pushed into her skull, rather unfortunate how much both Gamlen and Carver loved the sounds of their own voices. Her mother too had been wittering on all morning about claiming the estate back and Maker forgive her but Hawke was this close to slapping the woman. Or shaking her, at the very least. What did an estate matter when her own children were on the brink of starving before her eyes. If they didn’t raise the 50 gold for this mission there’d be no roof at all over their heads soon enough, never mind a mansion.

Carver was still stood at her shoulder, arms crossed and a frown on his features. “Well?” he demanded, and Hawke sighed. An argument was the last thing she wanted right now, but angry silence was probably only going to wind him up more. Eventually she finished with the buckle and glared at him, “because I’m not an ass.” it wasn’t her best come back by a long shot, but the ache behind her eyes was only getting worse and dammit she was too tired for this shit. At the very least Carver seemed satisfied to have drawn a response from her, giving her a moment to pull on her boots. What was left of them anyway. The souls were worn down to nearly nothing, and holes let in so much water that she might as well have been going bare foot. There was no money to replace them though, so she’d have to make do. Damn it all, making do was all she seemed capable of doing right now. 

“Besides, Kirkwall doesn’t need more self important arses with swords running around. There’s enough of those in the Templars already.” as soon as she spat the words out she felt guilty about them. Carver may have driven her up the walls, but she didn’t do any favours by being mean to him. Then again, his words from their argument the other day rang in her head and the guilt lessened almost immediately. "What a waste huh? If Bethany was going to die on your watch anyway" He was right, of course, but that’s what made it hurt so much. Losing a sister was terrible enough, having your own mother and brother blame you for it outright…No. She didn’t have time to think about that right now and she pushed the thoughts away, instead grabbing her staff with one hand and beckoning Calenhad over with the other. At least her mabari couldn’t argue with her-small blessings. “Try and find a way to get your head out your arse while I’m gone won’t you?” she quipped to Carver before pushing the hovel door open and stepping out onto the streets of Lowtown. 

If she thought being inside was bad for her headache, it was nothing compared to the noise-and smell-of Lowtown. The pressure behind her eyes doubled in its intensity until she was sure her head was going to explode right there on the street. Worse, with the increased pain came the rolling of her stomach and she was sure that if there was anything in it she would be vomiting all over Gamlen’s doorstep. Perhaps fortunately she’d been forced to skip breakfast and at least managed to stumble around the corner before leaning against a wall and sliding down onto her haunches. Breathe. She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. Closing her eyes she forced herself to take in a slow breath, and then another until the worst of the nausea subsided and she felt she could face the world again. Not a moment later a passerby dropped a couple of coppers at her feet and she opened her mouth to stop them before changing her mind. Not the most dignified way to earn money perhaps, but it would at least go someway to making sure she could afford food that night. Shit. Shit. The ache behind her eyes was joined by the heat of unshod tears and she held a hand tightly against her mouth, swallowing down a threatening sob. Beside her Calenhad whined in distress and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his fur and breathing in the comfortingly familiar smell of dog. “I’ll be alright boy,” she muttered, “just a headache stressing me out, that’s all.” 

Eventually she pulled herself together and stood up, wiping away the dust from her armour and picking up the handful of copper by her feet. Her head was still pounding painfully, and her stomach still empty, but she could at least breathe evenly again. With one hand still in Calenhad’s fur and the other gripping her staff she took a step towards the hanged man to meet Varric, and then another. By the time she reached the table where a few of her new friends were sat waiting for her there was a smile plastered on her features. If, when she threw herself confidently down onto one of the chairs the world tilted a little and her stomach rolled well, no one had to know, did they.


End file.
